Fire from Heaven
by delos13
Summary: Death of Alexander...it's never an easy topic to write. This story is my contribution to this year commemoration of this sad event.
1. Chapter 1

This story is my contribution to the memory of Alexander, to mark his passing from this world in the early days of June.

First, about the title that is obviously borrowed from the famous book by Mary Renault. I don't know if she ever put in words the explanation for this title but for me it was always quite self-evident, by "Fire from Heaven" she meant Alexander. Was the reader supposed to connect this description of Macedonian king with fire from heaven brought by Prometheus to earth? I don't know but I always suspected it. So, why go with this title and not come up with my own? Well, because in my story I made the connection to Prometheus obvious, though not direct.

Though this story could have been written any year, I am glad that I came up with this storyline in 2014 – the year of the tenth anniversary of Oliver Stone's movie. In this way, the story is tribute both to Alexander's memory and Oliver's endeavor. So, I am going to admit that not only I borrowed the title from Mary Renault, I also borrowed from the movie. By "borrowed from the movie" I meant the story of the ring. It appears prominently three times in the movie – when Hephaistion gives it to Alexander on his wedding night to Roxana, when the plot of the pages happens and when Alexander dies. In my story the ring serves as a centerpiece though I gave this piece of jewelry quite a different background. What else did I take from the movie? The eagle. Though, still, no Cassander; but I hope Philotas fulfilled his role effortlessly.

A few more notes. Some time ago I realized all our fan fiction stories contain an expected list of historical personages (and a whole wonderful slew of OC) – there are about 20-30 of them. But what about all the others, those who were mentioned by Arrian, Plutarch, Diodorus, Curtius and Justin once or twice, do they deserve the oblivion just because they weren't mentioned too often or died too early in the campaign? So, I decided to introduce new historical personages into my stories, even if I don't give them the main stage. The first one was Alcetas, Perdiccas' brother, who appeared in the final chapters of my story "Alexander, Revisited."

So, now, making my promise public, I want to introduce you to another character, Ptolemaeus. His name spelled the same way as the future Pharaoh of Egypt, but I left the original spelling, not the Latinised one. Actually, it was quite a popular name at the time, and there were quite a few of Ptolemaeuses in Alexander's army, and by "quite a few" I meant only those who made it to history books. This particular Ptolemaeus was one of the seven Somatophylakes, or Bodyguards, that Alexander inherited from his father Philip. Very little is known about him, just these two short phrases from Arrian narrating the siege of Halicarnassus (Arrian, i. 22):

"The second party, which sallied forth by the triple gate, was met by Ptolemy, one of the royal body-guards, who had with him the regiments of Addaeus and Timander and some of the light-armed troops…..Of the men in the city about one thousand were slain; and of Alexander's men about forty, among whom were Ptolemy, one of the king's body-guards…."

Not much to go on so everything in my story about him is just my imagination. However, there is one more interesting fact to notice. This Ptolemaeus was the first of Philip's Somatophylakes to die (at the siege of Halicarnassus) and because tradition demanded that there always has to be seven of them, the first Somatophylax appointed by Alexander himself upon Ptolemaeus' death was Hephaistion.

And now the final note. We all know that Alexander slept with a copy of Iliad under his pillow, that he liked to compare himself to Achilles and Hephaistion to Patrocles; but I think it sometimes slips our minds that all the personages and events of what we nowadays call Greek Mythology were part of the everyday life in those times. This is why I think this story, heavy on Greek Mythology, would be an appropriate contribution to his memory (and that of Hephaistion as well).

If I didn't scare you yet from the reading, below is a short glossary of some mythological names mentioned in the story:

_Son of Menoetius _– Patrocles

_Rhesus _– king of Thrace who came to help Troy in the last months of siege. Odysseus and Diomedes went on reconnaissance night mission and not only managed to steal king's famous horses but killed Rhesus himself and a lot of his men. So, the captain of king's guards, obviously wasn't good at his job.

_Alexander –_ I am sure you all know that the name translates as "defender of men", but just in case.

_Deucaleon_ – the king who survived the deluge sent by Zeus (think Biblical Noah). He and his brother Hellen were indeed sons of Prometheus in Greek Mythology. The rest of the story told by the priest is my own invention.

I hope I didn't put you to sleep with this long author's note.

Long live the memory of King Alexander and Hephaistion, his true and only love!


	2. Chapter 2

"_Moreover, many centuries before us, he Herodotus discovers an important yet treacherous and complicated trait of human memory: people remember what they want to remember, not what actually happened. Everyone colours events after his fashion, brews up his own melange of reminiscences. Therefore getting through to the past itself, the past as it really was, is impossible. What are available to us are only its various versions, more or less credible, one or another of them suiting us better at any given time. The past doesn't exist. There are only infinite renderings of it." _

Ryszard Kapuscinski, "Travels with Herodotus"

x

"Scamander reminds me of Ludias," pensively said Ptolemaeus, "when I was a boy, father would take me sometimes to his old homestead and I would be left there for days playing with the local boys. I think he had a woman in the nearby village that he liked to visit. Who knows, maybe some of my old pals were actually my half-brothers. But I don't remember much how they looked, just the fun we had. We would go fishing and scavenge for the eggs of the birds."

The somatophylax stopped his childhood recollections and looked at his companion, "You are not listening, Philotas," he said, almost accusatory. The young general didn't react and Ptolemaeus had no choice but continue his journey in silence. He looked wistfully at Perdiccas and Leonnatos who rode ahead and obviously had fun conversing with each other. He could hear their voices, full of mirth, easy camaraderie and unguarded gestures.

"This is completely irresponsible," hissing through his teeth said Philotas, "we are in the enemy territory but behave as if we went on the road trip outside of Pella. And the whole idea to visit Mt. Ida is completely stupid, just like our visit to Troy and that performance THEY put around the tombs of Achilles and Patrocles."

"It is important to Alexander," reproachfully said Ptolemaeus, "and he is our king."

"I bet Philip didn't resort to such theatrics," Philotas continued to fume.

The Somatophylax allowed himself to laugh; all he has to do was to remember some of the antics he witnessed serving the old king as a bodyguard. "Oh, Philotas," he said vying his companion with dark brown eyes full of mirth and at the same time some hint of pity, "Your should learn to enjoy life because you never know when this precious gift will be taken from you."

"Exactly," with grim determination of unrepentant bore mumbled Philotas, "I won't be surprised if it happens because of some folly of our recently crowned King."

"I am afraid it's going to be your folly," said Ptolemaeus, no longer laughing. "Why did you agree to join Alexander on this _folly_ if you're so against it? Oh, wait, let me guess, it was because your father ordered you so?"

"Go fuck yourself, Ptolemaeus," angrily snarled Philotas and, giving his horse a vicious kick, galloped straight ahead, leaving his companion alone.

"I thought you were on more friendly terms with Philotas," said Krateros catching up with Somatophylax now that he was left alone.

"Even Philotas himself is not on friendly terms with Philotas," rather philosophically commented Ptolemaeus. "I hope he is not going to bother Alexander with his complains."

"What he is unhappy about now?"

"He said this side trip to Mt. Ida is a folly and complete waste of time."

"Well…," said Krateros and let some silence hang in the air for a few brief moments, "We could be doing other things. After all, we came here to conquer, not to….." suddenly, he decided to drop the conversation. It was obvious that Ptolemaeus was in favor of this trip and it wouldn't surprise Krateros if the king's Somatophylax was not only his bodyguard but his spy as well. If Alexander wanted to pay homage at Zeus' altar on Mt. Ida, he could pretend that he liked the idea as well.

"Do you think Kleitos knows where he is going?" asked the general trying to change the topic of conversation.

"I dearly hope so," sincerely said Ptolemaeus, "we've been riding for hours since this morning, it's five days as we left Troy; he said today we should reach the foot of the mountain. Aren't your curious yourself?"

"Curious about what?"

"Seeing Mt. Ida? It is said Anchises was tending to his flock somewhere on the slopes of this mountain when Aphrodite seduced him."

"I don't think I quite suit her tastes; Hephaistion, on the other hand…."

"This is where you're mistaken," seriously responded Ptolemaeus hiding his mischievous smile in the curly mustache that framed his full lips, "after all, the goddess took Ares for her lover, not Apollo."

Krateros was about to respond that while having Hephaestus for a husband, Ares must be quite a good catch, but his rare foray into the realm of myth was interrupted by the shouts emanating from the group of riders that were approaching the party from the road ahead.

"Looks like Nearchos with Orontes and Calas, I hope Kleitos didn't run into Persians while trying to prove he was right about the road."

"They are too cheerful," noted Ptolemaeus and leaned forward trying to see better.

Krateros didn't wait. He urged his horse forward and broke into gallop. Not wishing to be left behind, Ptolemaeus followed the suit and shortly after found himself in the group of his comrades and the King.

"…. so we won't come to Zeus' altar empty-handed," Ptolemaeus caught the end of the phrase when he was within the listening range of Nearchos.

"What's going on?" asked the Somatophylax.

"Artemis greeted us to Mt. Ida with a family of wild boars!" Nearchos didn't mind to tell his story twice. "Quite unexpectedly we came across two sows and a litter of seven piglets, the mothers of course had to defend their brood and we, well, had to defend ourselves. One lucky piglet run away but the rest wasn't so fortunate. We are going to have a real feast today. Oh, and Kleitos claims he is sure we are on the right road, so if you speed up, we can yet make some progress today and we'll be at Zeus' altar tomorrow."

The group started to talk excitedly and even Philotas' spirits seemed to improve. They didn't waste time and made the haste to catch up with Kleitos and rest of the men he took for a reconnaissance mission. Following Nearchos for a while, the Macedonians ventured into the forested area on the slopes of Mt. Ida. The trees didn't grow thick yet there but still almost immediately they could feel some magic enveloping them, as if cradling and protecting against the invisible foe. The birds merrily chirped, the pines and beeches murmured and the air was filled with unusual freshness inciting them to inhale with the fullness of their lungs.

"Hey, over here," Kleitos' booming voice resonated in powerful echo. When the group reached the commander and his team, the sows and piglets were already tied to the poles and ready to be transported.

"Why won't we make our camp here and now?" suggested Leonnatos, "this is as good place as any to spend a night and fill our stomachs."

"It's too early in the day," Alexander stated the obvious. "We are not on the pleasure trip."

"I would never guess," Philotas muttered under his teeth. 

"You have something to say, young man?" Alexander asked in his most royally displeased tone of voice.

Philotas flared. He was quite a few years older than the king and the question meant to be an insult. He collected all his will power not to explode knowing quite well that he outstepped his boundaries and put himself in a dangerous position. He swallowed his pride and answered,

"I just stated my personal opinion to which I am entitled to, being a Macedonian nobleman and general. My father…."

Alexander interrupted him with a wave of his hand, "Not now, Philotas. Let's move on."

Not waiting for any sort of response, Alexander silently took the path that weaved deeper into the woods. There was no doubt it was some sort of the road used by humans. Wide enough for a cart to drive on comfortably and, judging by the tracks imbedded into the grass covered ground, it was used quite often for this purpose.

They stretched along ridding two horses abreast, Kleitos with Orontes in the vanguard and Ptolemaeus with Krateros closing the file. The paired companions engaged in a small talk and at the same time took notice of their surroundings, watching for any unexpected movement or suspicious noises. Alexander alone remained silent and Hephaistion, riding alongside, let him be. The son of Amyntor knew quite well that it was Philotas who spoiled his king mood but he also suspected the same thing that he knew Alexander suspected as well – Philotas was not alone in his ridicule of king's adventure. They all considered it too childish and too romantic even if, like Perdiccas, Leonnatos and Nearchos, they were lighthearted and enthusiastic about it, or like Krateros, Kleitos and Ptolemaeus just treated it like any other order from their king.

None of them, sadly mused Hephaistion, could fuse Alexander's practical side of military genius with that of a dreamer who wanted to emulate Homeric heroes. They couldn't comprehend how these two sides of Alexander's nature could coexist in one person simply because such notion was too foreign to them. Sometimes, listening to Alexander's dreams to which he alone was privy to, Hephaistion trembled in horror that one day Alexander may let his guard down and expose his heart to people who will shrink from and disavow their king because they will consider him as feeble minded as Arrhidaeus for his dreams and believes.

Suddenly Kleitos stopped and raised his hand drawing the attention of those behind him. Moments later they all became aware of what made the commander stop. The white whiffs of smoke were flowing in the canopy of trees and vague sounds of babbling water hinted to the presence of the waterfall.

"May be we are not the only travellers wishing to honour Zeus," suggested Perdiccas.

No one responded with words and they resumed their canter but now their hands were on their weapons ready, if necessary, to take adequate measures against any unpleasant surprises.

Not long afterwards the pass lead them to a pleasant clearing where, quite unaware of the strangers happening upon their little paradise, a few people were going about their daily chores. A big, sturdy hut occupied the middle space at the far end of the circular dell. To the right was paddock with a few pigs and small goats; an obedient horse, harnessed to the middle sized cart, peacefully nibbled on the grass undisturbed by a few chickens looking for juicy worms at the same place. To the left the pass continued somewhere behind the trees and, separated from that path by a few rather big boulders, the ground gave way to the downhill, stone encased drop at the bottom of which waterfall murmured its unending song.

Between the hut and the road upon which the Macedonians entered the premises was a huge pit for fire encircled by tree trunks serving as benches. The newcomers were immediately noticed by the man tending to the fire, who raised his head and looked appraisingly at the horsemen. After a few moments of silence, he stood from his place and gesturing to the young man and two boys who froze at the sight of strangers, went, seemingly unperturbed, to greet the guests. He was a stocky man in probably his sixties still boasting an impressive quantity of the dark, curly hair tinged only slightly with grey. He had a built of the man accustomed to a lot of physical work which, judging by the well-developed muscles of his arms, legs and chest was endured quite well. He was clad in a typical local attire of long trousers and an ample shirt hold by a leather belt from which a middle sized knife hung alongside his left thigh.

Giving a cursory glance to everybody in the group he addressed Black Kleitos, whom he must have considered a leader, in a local language in what sounded as greeting and invitation judging by the circle gesture he made with his right hand in the direction of the clearing.

"I think this peasant just invited us to join his fire," commented Nearchos.

"I would invite us too," scowled Perdiccas, "with all that meat that we brought along and our obvious advantage in numbers and training."

"You always think with your sword hand and never with your head," loudly reprimanded him Philotas, "it well might be a trap."

"Yes, it might, but I don't see how anybody would know we're going to be here," said Perdiccas, dismounting.

"We asked for the road to Mt. Ida in that hovel that once was Troy," fumed Philotas, "surely the locals described to us the longest road possible, and went themselves to alert Persian troops. This is a perfect place for an ambush."

"Don't panic, Philotas," coldly stated Alexander and dismounted as well. Following king's example, others started to do the same.

"Kleitos, post the guards and organize others to prepare food," ordered Alexander, "we'll spend the night here." Then he turned to their host and gestured to him to come closer. The man approached and gave an inquiring look to Alexander. The king picked up a brunch from the ground and started to draw a map of the surrounding area, indicating prominent features they passed on the way here. Then he drew a circle between the trees and indicated the surrounding space with his hand, hoping that their host would understand the meaning. The man nodded and continued to look at Alexander with question mark in his eyes.

"Ida, Mt. Ida," said Alexander and drew a triangle, "Altar to Zeus?" he asked and drew a smaller circle on the top of the triangle. "Do you know the road to the altar, altar to Zeus?" Alexander repeated the question hoping that the shepherd would understand.

"May be you speak some proper Greek?" in an immaculate Laconic asked the shepherd. "Your language seems to be some barbaric dialect of the pure Greek but I can't make what you're saying."

The stilled silence hung in the air with all the Macedonians looking at each other with a mix of bewilderment and indignation.

"You dirty Barbarian dare to call our language a dialect?!" exploded Philotas in a far less perfect Greek, "how dare you!"

"It is what it is, there is no shame in it," the man shrugged his shoulders. "But at least now I can welcome you properly to my humble abode. My name is Agelaus and I am a local priest."

"Priest of Zeus?" with hope inquired Ptolemaeus.

"No, not of Zeus, but of hero Alexander."

"Hero Alexander?" Perdiccas asked, at loss.

"You probably know him as Paris," scoffed Agelaus.

"Paris of Troy? He was no hero but a treacherous coward who stole Helen from her beloved husband," indignantly exclaimed Leonnatos.

"Don't repeat the ugly lies that wily Greeks spread around our Trojan hero," insisted the priest.

"Those are not lies," firmly cut Alexander who remained silent so far, "if Troy had any heroes, it was Hector but even he was defeated by mighty Achilles, my ancestor."

"Mighty Achilles?" Agelaus sneered. "He was a brainless butcher who…."

"How dare you?!" thundered Alexander and lunged at the priest.

"Wait, wait…" Hephaistion hurried to intervene, "he doesn't know that Achilles is your ancestor, I am sure he didn't mean to insult you."

Alexander somewhat cooled at his friend's calming words but the priest showed no desire to give ground. "If you bow to Achilles as your hero, you are not welcomed here any longer," Agelaus spat on the ground and turning around, started to walk away from the group.

"You are in no position to dictate us any terms," barked Black Kleitos, barring the priest's way, "Look around, there are only four of you and twenty of us. You should apologize to our king for insulting his ancestor and then maybe, just maybe, we won't cause you any harm."

"I would do no such thing," stubbornly said Agelaus.

"Oh, but you should," Hephaistion's voice rang loud and clear and an attentive listener could discern the notes of amusements in his tone.

"And why is that?" Agelaus span with challenge in Hephaistion's direction.

The Macedonian triumphantly smiled and said, pointing in his lover's direction, "Because he is Alexander too."

The priest frowned and looked appraisingly at the man who was presented to him as a king and namesake of his hero.

"Is it true?" after some moments asked Agelaus. "Your parents called you Alexander? Such a strange choice of name for a descendant of Achilles."

"My name has nothing to do with the Trojan prince," growled Alexander, "I am the third king of such name in Macedon and I was named after my glorious predecessors, not the ….Trojan coward."

"Prince Alexander was not a coward," with vehement conviction exclaimed the priest, "this is what you Greeks made of him because of your ignorance and your own wicked ways."

"How about we stop discussing the old days and turn our attention to the present," suggested Black Kleitos. "Personally, I am hungry and prefer to get as soon as possible to the business of roasting those boars than discussing the events of distant past. Though, I have to admit," the general mischievously leered at Alexander, "in addition to your name, you have another thing in common with the infamous prince of Troy."

"Yeah? And what is that?" discontentedly asked the young king.

"Though you didn't have to resort to kidnapping, surely Hephaistion can rival and maybe even outshine Helen of Troy when it comes to the beauty even though he is not a woman."

"Your name is Hephaistion?" asked the priest with interest.

"Yes," confirmed the son of Amyntor, "what of it?"

"And, are you…. the king's lover?"

Hephaistion frowned, "None of your business, actually."

"…and some say it is the other way around," mumbled Philotas.

Whether or not anybody heard Philotas' remark, all the attention was on the priest who declared at the same moment, "Then it was the will of the gods that brought you here and I gladly welcome you to my humble abode. I do apologize for my previous outburst but you should understand, as a priest of Hero Alexander I can't favor Achilles because….he was an enemy. But those days are gone, I am sure King Alexander is worthy of his name, that of the defender of men, and Hephaistion is surely completes him as Helen."

"Don't be ridiculous," Alexander fixed the priest with contemptuous look, "Hephaistion is Patrocles to my Achilles, not Helen to your Paris. We'll rest here for the night, but you better stay out of our way," and with those words Alexander, not giving a second look to Agelaus, turned away and went in the direction of the waterfall.

Hephaistion couldn't decide what to make of this encounter. Surely, it was a very pleasant place and having it already occupied provided the whole party with certain advantages but it definitely didn't improve Alexander's mood. The son of Amyntor found being compared himself to Helen of Troy rather amusing, he used being called Adonis, Ganymede or even Apollo for his beauty; Helen of Troy was a novelty and he realized it offended him less that the slight that Alexander felt of being called Paris.

Despite his initial cockiness, the priest took Alexander's advice to the heart and kept to himself. Only once he approached Black Kleitos and said in a rather indifferent tone, "If you need anything, let me know." The other occupants of this forest abode didn't speak any Greek and also made themselves scarce.

When the darkness fell, the meat abundant feast was ready. In addition to providing the Macedonians with cooking herbs and iron utensils for roasting, Agelaus brought some rather pleasant wine. After the meat was ready, Kleitos sent plateful of meat to the smaller fire that the priest and his entourage sustained apart from the large pit in the centre. In both cases the exchange was silent as if indeed both groups didn't have a common language.

Alexander ordered an early retreat for the night and everybody set up their bedrolls close enough to the fire to be kept warm but at the safe enough distance to avoid any unpleasant accidents. Black Kleitos, to whom Alexander relegated the duties of quartermaster and nominal commander, chose those who would take the different watches during the night and then, noticing Hephaistion returning from the woods, announced, loud enough to be heard by everybody, "For now, feel free to fulfil the role of Zeus' daughter, but come the second watch, get ready to perform duties of Menoetius' son, and I meant the warrior's part of them."

"If you can assure me that you know your duties better than the captain of King Rhesus' guards, you won't find me wanting in any of mine," parried Hephaistion with good natured sarcasm.

"I am afraid your joke was completely lost on Black Kleitos," commented Perdiccas from somewhere on the ground.

"One more word and you are going to relieve him on the last watch," the older general snubbed.

"You can't do that, you already gave that honor to Philotas and Nearchos," argued Perdiccas.

"Reminds me of our long gone days in Mieza," said Leonnatos wistfully to nobody in particular.

"Stop bickering," ordered Alexander, "Hephaistion, don't waste your time, and come here."

"I told you, just like in Mieza," Leonnatos snickered and received giggles and hushes in return.

x

Hephaistion hated midnight watches but he knew Kleitos didn't do it out of petty vengeance or resentment; nobody liked middle shifts and Kleitos kept everybody on rotating schedule and Alexander took it two nights ago. Now it was his turn and Ptolemaeus was a good companion; far better than Philotas with whom Nearchos had a misfortune to share the last shift.

Hephaistion wondered why Alexander surrendered the command to Black Kleitos and he didn't buy an explanation that the king wanted to test general's abilities to have an independent command. Their excursion wasn't a military operation and besides, Black Kleitos had enough experience serving under Philip. Most probably, it was completely the opposite; Alexander utterly trusted Black Kleitos' sound judgement and wanted this trip to be, on one side, safe and sound and on the other use it as an opportunity to connect with the distant past without being obliged to fulfil the responsibilities of the king.

The few hours of his shift flew rather fast. He was about to join Alexander on the ground after Ptolemaeus advised him he was going to wake Philotas and Nearchos by himself, when he noticed a lonely silhouette moving away from the tree in his direction. Hephaistion put his hand on the kopis and was about to challenge the intruder but the shadow found the voice and announced, "It's me, Agelaus."

Hephaistion exhaled. The contours of the body definitely resembled those of the priest and the men's voice was quite distinct. "What do you want in the middle of the night?" he asked rather rudely.

"I hope you didn't get offended when I called you Helen of Troy," started the older man.

"I honestly don't care, go to sleep," Hephaistion suggested and began to walk away.

"Wait," asked the priest and took more steps in Hephaistion's direction, "I have a gift for you."

"I don't need any gifts."

"The gift comes with a story," coaxed the priest.

"Even more so, I want to use the remaining hours to have some sleep."

The priest didn't listen and taking the remaining steps that closed the distance between him and Hephaistion, outstretched his hand and opened his fist. The pale palm revealed a crudely crafted gold ring but it was the stone that immediately caught Hephaistion's attention. It was of some light colour but inside it danced a flicker of fire, it's yellow and red tongues entwined in chaotic but beautiful movement. Hephaistion frowned, he stood with his back to the fire pit, far enough to block any light and the weak disk of the new moon didn't shed enough light to produce such a result.

"The source of the fire is inside this ring," the priest responded to the unasked question.

"But how?" curiosity took better of Hephaistion.

"I didn't call you Helen of Troy just for your looks," seemingly unrelated explained Agelaus, "though you are an exceptionally beautiful young man."

"Why then?"

"Because of your name."

"My name? I don't see any connection."

"But of course there is connection," insisted the priest, "do you know what name Helen means?"

"Sure, it means a torch."

"Same as yours, Hephaistion, dedicated to Hephaistos; and where the god of smiths would be without a torch?"

"It's rather a big stretch."

"Not at all. But… I can't give you this ring without a story that goes with it."

"As interesting as this ring is, I have no intention of taking it from you. Live it for other occasion, when you may find yourself in the need for money."

"This ring is not for sale, it was made as a gift and can only be passed as a gift or the fire inside will die."

"But why me?"

"Because many generations of Alexander's priests waited for the right person to pass this ring on, just as before unnumbered generations of priests serving the Egyptian god Ptah waited for the right person to pass this ring on."

"And who was that right person?" Hephaistion couldn't supress his curiosity.

"Helen of Troy, though of course at the time she was known as Helen of Sparta."

Hephaistion signed. He didn't decide yet whether he was going to accept the gift but he knew that he has to listen to the story from the beginning till the end. It might be just a story but it already buried its teeth into Hephaistion's mind and soul.

"So?" son of Amyntor asked as he comfortably wrapped his warm cloak around his body and leaned his back against the trunk of the tree that grew at the some distance from the smaller fire sustained by the priest earlier this evening.

"I will start at the beginning," advised the priest who sat close by and passed the jar of wine to Hephaistion.

The younger man nodded in agreement and took a sip. He gestured to Nearchos, who was about to inquire if everything was all right, to leave them alone.

"When Prometheus decided to steal the heavenly fire from Zeus and give it to mortals, he already had a son, Deucalion, by his wife, a nymph called Clymene."

"You said this ring came from Egypt," interrupted Hephaistion.

"Helen of Sparta brought it with her from Egypt to Troy, but it's not when and how the story started."

"All right," agreed Hephaistion, "go on."

"As you know, Prometheus means "forethought" and the titan possessed the gift of seeing the future, so he knew that Zeus was going to punish him for his deed but he did it anyway."

"Wait, before you continue, you have to tell me how come you speak Greek so effortlessly?"

"In order to become a priest of Alexander, every apprentice has to go to Sparta to learn the language, to learn to speak it fluently."

"I doubt Paris, well, Alexander, spoke the language with the same capacity."

"The first priest established most of our rules, this one was in honour of Helen's native land despite all the destruction her sons brought to the plains of Troy; so every priest ever since has to follow them."

"In honour of Helen…." echoed Hephaistion, "most of the Trojans must have hated her."

"Most of them, yes, but not the first priest," continued Agelaus. "But back to my story. Clymene, Prometheus' wife, begged him to change his mind, or at least postpone his noble mission; you see, she was heavily pregnant with twins, and wanted to have her husband around. But Prometheus couldn't wait, the humankind was dying in thousands from cold and misery and besides, it was an opportune occasion when all the Olympians left their lofty abode and went away to celebrate with Oceanus the marriage of one of his daughters. Prometheus told Clymene she had nothing to worry about, she would give birth to a healthy boy whom she should call Hellen, he would become the king of Thessaly and one day his name will be used to describe all the people who worshiped the mighty Olympians. The other twin was going to be a girl but no special destiny lay ahead for her.

Prometheus kissed his wife goodbye and went away, knowing that he will never see her again. But when he stole the divine fire and came to earth and started to distribute the warm flames to the people around, he watched how families gathered together to enjoy the warmth, how husbands kissed their wives and women hugged their children, he became sad in heart that he would never be able to bask in the love of his wife again, that he never would see his children and though a glorious future lay ahead for both of his sons, he left nothing for his daughter. He decided that he would leave a parting gift for her so that she would remember him as long as she lived but he realized that he had nothing that can be passed as a present to a girl.

Prometheus was a skillful craftsman but there was no time to create a jewel worthy to be a present for his daughter. He looked at the fennel stalk in which he brought the heavenly fire and noticed a tiny speck still alive inside. The only jewel that was in his possession was a massive gold ring with a brownish stone that long time ago his then best friend god Hephaestus gave him as a token of their friendship. He fanned the remaining fire in the stalk and breathed it into the stone of the ring. Then he used the power that he had over the thoughts and making one of them alive, send it, together with a ring, as a messenger to his wife saying that it should be given to his daughter as a wedding present when she finds a worthy man who would love her wholeheartedly, who would be brave in a face of danger, who would defend her and the people of her city.

When Clymene got the ring with instructions, she already gave birth to her twins and they lay side by side in a small cradle nearby. "What should I call you, little one?" she asked her daughter as if the infant could understand her. "Your father sent you this wonderful gift but he failed to name you." After some consideration, she decided to call her daughter Helen so that the twins would share the same name.

Years passed. As you know, Prometheus paid dearly for his heroic gesture. Both sons left their mother's house in search of adventure and glory, but Helen stayed. You see, there were no suitors to take Helen away. Nobody wanted to marry a girl whose father was guilty of offending Olympians despite the fact that he did it not for the personal glory but for the sake of all humankind. We, people, are often ungrateful towards our benefactors. Besides, Prometheus' daughter couldn't boast an outstanding beauty that her famous namesake claimed in future. But what Helen lacked in appearance, she possessed in her wisdom and cleverness but this fact quite possibly served as a further deterrent for her would be suitors. After all, nobody wants to have a wife who has the intelligence far beyond their own.

More years passed and though Helen was still of marriageable age nobody came forward to ask for her hand. But one day Helen met a captain of the Phoenician ship in the market and she fell madly in love with him. She convinced him that her father left her a dowry of immeasurable wealth but the fact was kept secret from other suitors so that they won't ask for her hand in marriage because of that. Helen was very skillful in her persuasion and the captain, suspicious as he was by nature and quite a trickster himself, fell into the well laid trap.

On the agreed night, Helen slipped from her house and joined the Phoenician on his ship that sailed away. Helen brought nothing with her just a change of clothes and the ring that Prometheus sent her on the night she was born. So skillful was Helen in her clever lies that she managed to persuade the captain that the treasure was actually hidden on one of the islands of the Aegean Sea, away from the marauding bangs that infested the area she leaved. Helen hoped that during the voyage she would be able to make the Phoenician to fell in love with her and forget about the promised treasure. Alas, it didn't happen, the captain's only interest laid in the wealth that he hoped to gain.

When Helen couldn't postpone telling the truth any longer, she admitted what she did. The Phoenician got mad and locked her in the small cabin on the ship. She ate only when somebody remembered to bring her food but it never was the captain himself. One day they dropped anchor in some port on the island of Crete that was famous for selling and buying slaves. The Phoenician, wanting to get at least some gain from the woman who cheated him by making him to believe in the non-existent treasure, told the slave traders that the woman had the gift of prophetic sight and could read and write in several languages. Nobody believed him first but the captain brought Helen to the market and made her read from both Egyptian papyruses and clay tablets that came from other far away countries. Then he made her to converse in those languages and write. Being illiterate himself he learned during the voyage that she possessed those rare gifts.

Phoenician's gamble panned out. Quite quickly he found a buyer who paid an enormous amount of money for such highly educated and talented slave. When the deal was done, the Phoenician passed the chain that run around Helen's body to her new owner and was about to rob her of the only possession she had, her father's ring, but even in such a cruel moment of her life Prometheus' daughter, though severely broken in her spirit, managed to maintain her quickness of mind and resourcefulness that she inherited from her father. She said that without the ring she would lose all her abilities to see the future, read, write and converse in different languages and the slave trader, who already paid a hefty price, insisted that the ring remains in Helen's possession. The Phoenician decided not to argue and went away, quite happy with his fortune.

The slave trader who bought Helen brought her to Egypt, as was his initial intention. There he gave her as offering to the god Ptah whose favour he tried to gain for quite some years now. His only son was sick for a many years and nobody could heal him. The esteemed Oracle told him that only the benevolence of Egyptian god Ptah could return the health to his son. But despite all the sacrifices that the slave trader made, Ptah remained unmovable to his plea."

"So, did Ptah relent when that slave trader brought the daughter of Prometheus to his temple?" Hephaistion asked with unhidden interest. By now, he was completely immersed in this captivated narrative.

"The story is silent about it but…." Agelaus stopped and looked at Hephaistion almost in rapture.

"What?" asked son of Amyntor perplexed by the expression on the priest's face.

"This story was passed by numerous generations, from one priest of Ptah to another, from one priest of Alexander to the next, but I am the last and the only one who is given this divine insight into it, I feel truly blessed but completely undeserving."

"What are you talking about?" still confused, asked Hephaistion.

"Helen could have been sold to the temple of any Egyptian god, or a Greek one for that matter, why Ptah?"

"I don't know. What the story says on the matter?"

"Nothing. There was no explanation but now I know one existed from the very beginning."

"Which is what?"

"The ring was always meant to fall into your hands."

"How come?"

"Though divine fire belonged to Zeus, Prometheus stole it from Hephaistos, the gods of crafts and smiths and the ring itself was carved by the god of smiths. Do you know what place Ptah holds in Egyptian pantheon?"

"I am not much familiar with it," admitted Hephaistion.

"He is like Hephaistos, the god of craftsmanship and metalworking, and as Hephaistos, he is also often depicted deformed."

"So, here is your connection. What this whole story has to do with me?"

"You bear the name of Hephaistos, so the stolen fire, through its tiny flicker that still encased in this ring, will be returned, through Ptah, and through you, back to the Olympians. Zeus, in gratitude, will restore his benevolence to humankind, and the Golden Age, gone eons ago, will spread through our lands again."

"Golden and Silver ages were just a phantasy of Hesiod, are you familiar with his writings?"

"Indeed, I am; and I am sure your king Alexander dreams of bringing at least the Age of Heroes back. Wouldn't it be amazing if he'd have to give thanks to you for such an event?"

"You just met us a few hours ago. How do you know what our king dreams about?"

"Yes, I met you only today but I've heard about his desire to conquer the Persian Empire and revenge the atrocities of Xerxes. It is of no concern to me. Unlike my predecessors, I failed to secure apprentices who will take my place after my death. I thought myself unworthy to be chosen as priest of Alexander, but now I know it was my destiny – not to teach the next protégé but to meet you and pass this ring to you. But I digress, the dawn will soon lighten the sky and my story is not told yet."

"Go on," encouraged Hephaistion; he didn't take seriously Agelaus' words about destiny being fulfilled but he liked the story anyway.

"So, Helen stayed with the priests of Ptah. On her deathbed she revealed her true identity and bequeathed her ring to the Chief Priest. She said the ring and her story should be passed from generation to generation until such a day when another woman called Helen would show up at the steps of the temple seeking asylum in the company of a man who loved her more than himself, who was ready to sacrifice his life for the sake of his beloved and his people.

Many generations passed and then, one day, Helen of Sparta came to Egypt with Alexander; their ship was badly beaten by the storm and they sought refuge and temporally shelter. The priests of Ptah immediately knew that she was the woman to whom they should pass the ring. She accepted it with gratitude and reverence but unfortunately the Chief Priest didn't know the answer to the very important question that Helen asked him, "Now what?" The ring was in her possession, she bore the name of Helen, just as Prometheus' daughter and her beloved not only swore his eternal love but also promised to defend her and those around him, as his name implied and his intentions were. This pair seemed to be truly a chosen one, not only Helen was a clever and highly educated, she was a princess and a daughter of Zeus himself, plus, she possessed a beauty unmatched among the mortals. And the man with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her days not only fully returned her feelings, but, unlike the despicable Phoenician, was a noble prince of outstanding bravery and courage."

"Homer and other poets say otherwise," cautiously reminded Hephaistion.

"Nonsense," dismissed the accusations Agelaus. "If you listen, I will tell you the true story of Alexander. He was no less brave than his brother Hector, or any other of the Trojan heroes. When Agamemnon brought those thousand ships under the walls of Troy, Alexander was very eager and capable to defend his city against the Achaeans, but Hector decided otherwise."

"What do you mean?" Hephaistion asked with genuine interest.

"As I said, there were many heroes who were able to defend Troy and Alexander was among them. However, no one in the city knew the vicinity of Troy, the whole Troad actually, as well as Alexander did from his days of being shepherd on the slopes of this very mountain. He was able to go unnoticed, either alone or guiding a small group of men, back and forth from Troy seeking allies, bringing supplies, scouting in the area taken by Achaeans. Apprehensive of possible spies inside the walls of Troy and wanting to keep Alexander's outings secret, Hector spread the rumors that Alexander spent all his time in the arms of Helen, hidden in her bedroom and reluctant to take any part in the war.

So, for his love of Troy, Alexander was forced to suffer the most ignoble of rumors about his cowardice and softness. Helen as well, instead of spending her nights enjoying her husband's lovemaking as everybody assumed, spent most of her nights alone, trembling with fear for the safety of her husband who sometimes was absent for months. It is easy to be a hero in a broad daylight in full view of your peers and even your enemy. The Moirai assigned Alexander a far more difficult lot which he bore stoically until his untimely death. His name was never cleared."

"How do you know all that?" Hephaistion asked the logical question.

"You know how it all ended. The Troy was sacked and Menelaus took Helen back with him to Sparta. Though she intended it in the beginning, Helen never gave this ring to Alexander, there was no time or appropriate occasion. It took days for the Achaeans to divide the spoils and they started to bicker over it from the very beginning. Among the slaves who hauled the goods from the vanquished city to Menelaus' ship where Helen was quartered, the Spartan Queen recognized Agelaus. He was a son of the shepherd by the same name to whom years ago Priam and Hecuba gave the grim mission of disposing of baby Alexander in the woods. This younger Agelaus was Alexander's companion in many of his secret missions and was among chosen few who knew the true nature of the Trojan prince and the strength of love between him and his wife.

Helen felt that the ring, given to her years ago in Egypt should remain in Troy and that she, just like her namesake generations ago, should bequeath the ring and the story to the couple who would be worthy of Prometheus' inheritance. She managed to secure the freedom of Agelaus, gave him the ring and told him the story, from the very beginning. She also gave him a task that she herself couldn't accomplish – to establish a shrine to hero Alexander on the slopes of Mt. Ida, where years ago he spent his childhood and youth. Agelaus came here, to this very place, where his father's hut stood and where he and his pal Alexander spent the early years of their lives. He became a self-proclaimed priest of Hero Alexander and established all the rules. Ever since, for hundreds of year, one priest passed the ring and the story to another, hoping that one day, the right Alexander and right Helen will be worthy of this ring."

"I am no Helen…."

"True. I suspect both of Alexander and Helen came alive in you, and you have your own Alexander to love and take care of. Does he love you the same in return?"

"Yes, he does."

"Then take the ring. I am sure, everyone who ever had claim to this ring, from Prometheus to Helen of Troy, would like me to pass this ring to you. Only…."

"What?"

"Don't repeat the mistake of the previous owners of this ring. You have to give it to Alexander as a sign of your love when you deem the moment is right."

"I thought this ring was supposed to be passed in marriage only."

"Gods and titans speak to us, mortals, in mysterious language. I am sure you will find an occasion and then the destiny will be fulfilled."

"What destiny? You said Prometheus simply wanted his daughter to find an honorable man to love and defend her."

"Who know those things…. Take the ring and go catch a few remaining hours of sleep. I will show your king the shortest way to the altar of Zeus tomorrow."

x

Some years passed. The famous phrase of Alexander to Sisigambis "He is Alexander too" spread like a forest fire through the camp but those few who already heard those words in quite a different connotation wisely chose to keep this knowledge to themselves. When Ptolemy became the Pharaoh of Egypt and in his old age decided to write the memoirs, he couldn't omit Alexander's noble gesture towards Persian Queen-Mother but because he wasn't a part of the group that visited Mt. Ida, he didn't know that the same phrase was already used under different circumstances.

As for the ring, Hephaistion kept it for years to himself, sometimes hoping, sometimes fearing to face the occasion when it must be given to Alexander. And so one night, listening to the strange, foreign music in the wild country of Sogdia on the night of Alexander's marriage to Roxana, he knew that the moment was right to give the ring to Alexander. After all, Prometheus never said that the occasion supposed to be the wedding between the two loving souls themselves. When Hephaistion entered Alexander's wedding chamber, he knew that he didn't have time to tell his beloved the whole story, so he settled on the white lie about acquiring it in Egypt. After all, the priests of Egyptian god Ptah had it in their possession for a very long time.

Seeing Alexander wearing the ring all the time made Hephaistion happy but he knew that he has to find the occasion to share the full story. Such an opportunity came quite unexpectedly shortly after the conspiracy of pages was discovered. Alexander admitted to Hephaistion that it was his ring that saved his life. He had no reason whatsoever to suspect that anything was wrong with the wine given to him by one of his most trusted pages. When he was about to taste the wine, quite absentmindedly, Alexander looked at the ring, as usually admiring its rough beauty. He couldn't explain what happened next but it was as if the ring was talking to him, warning him about the poison.

"Maybe the ring WAS talking to you," said Hephaistion.

"What do you mean?" Alexander asked in surprise.

"There is something I have to tell you. About this ring. I didn't acquire it in Egypt," and Hephaistion retold the story to his beloved.

"Are you angry with me?" asked Hephaistion in the end. "For accepting this ring and for not telling you about it right away?"

"No. Believe it or not, but I agree with that priest, it is how it was meant to be. Only I think there is more of Alexander of Troy in you than in me."

"Are you saying I am a coward?" Hephaistion frowned.

"Of course not!" vehemently denied Alexander, "How can you imagine me saying such a thing about you? This story doesn't change my attitude towards Paris who killed Achilles so treacherously, but it makes more sense that he wasn't an effeminate weakling as Homer tells us. After all, before he was proclaimed the lost prince of Troy, he was known for his exceptional fighting skills when he quite successfully defended the inhabitants of Mt. Ida from brigands. What I meant to say is," Alexander signed and looked at Hephaistion, "I am aware of the rumors behind your back that you own your high position in the army solely as a reward for sharing my bed. But I know that you are no less gifted general than Krateros, Kenos or Philotas and Black Kleitos were. I have many talented generals in my army but unfortunately only one very talented organizer. I feel as confident giving any military assignment to you as I would to Krateros but I would never do such a stupid thing as order Krateros to organize a supply chain. Forgive me for dooming you to the same destiny as Hector doomed Paris."

"Not quite the same," good naturally chuckled Hephaistion, "but this ring has nothing to do with it. This would happen with or without it."

"Maybe you're right," said the king and slightly bent to claim Hephaistion's lips. "Now, my Alexander, your Helen missed you, what are you going to do about it?"

x

No amount of feverish daily activities, prayers to gods or wild parties could help Alexander to ease his pain of losing Hephaistion.

"Oh Helen," his eyes clouded with tears, Alexander chided and beseeched at the same time, "if you loved Paris as I love Hephaistion, how could you endure your life without him? How could you go back with Menelaus to Sparta and pretend that nothing happened? Were you stronger than Achilles, stronger than I? If only you can give me some strength to continue. I have to continue, not for my own sake or for the sake of the empire I conquered but for the sake of Hephaistion's memory. Without me immortalizing his name, what will become of it? He was proclaimed a divine Hero by the priests of Siwah but who will remember that when I am dead?"

But despite all the prayers, his heart remained broken and his hopes slowly ebbed away. His dreams were filled with ugly, grotesque images of suffering titans and falling heroes that long time ago his father showed him on the walls of abandoned cave. Helen didn't come to him in sleep to offer advice and neither did Achilles; even Hephaistion refused to answer his summons. It was the ring that chose to speak to him one night during one of the wild parties, warning about the poison in the cup he was about to drink from. But Alexander defied the words of caution and drank the wine, too tired to fight and wait alone.

x

Through shroud of pain and blurry vision Alexander could vaguely distinguish the silhouettes of the people around him. His eyes turned to the gloomy ceiling and imagining it was the clear sky, he wished to see his eagle for the last time but instead, far above in the clouds, the majestic figure of Zeus sitting on his heavenly throne materialized as if from nowhere.

"Please father Zeus," Alexander's lips moved with effort, "grant me the knowledge that upon my death I will be forever reunited with my Hephaistion in the Elysian Fields."

But the king of gods remained unmoved and didn't show any sign that he answered or even heard the prayer.

"Please, father Zeus," whispered Alexander one more time, "please."

Again, no answer.

"Please, you can take all the kingdoms that I conquered, all the armies that I defeated, all the lands that I went through, everything I have, all for the promise to be reunited with Hephaistion again."

"I am King of the Gods," Zeus broke his silence, "I can take whatever I want and I don't need your help with it."

"Please, take all the treasures I possess," pleaded Alexander.

"I have enough treasures," the King of Gods wasn't moved by Alexander's plea.

"I'll give you this ring that contains a spark of the fire once stolen from you by Prometheus, I will give it to you willingly, one fire from heaven for another," promised Alexander.

He saw Zeus raised one brow as if in surprise for such an offer and then dissolved into the clouds. Alexander, though no strength was left in his body, was about to scream in desperation but then he saw Zeus' eagle swooping from above with his beak open to receive the promised gift. With whatever remaining life power he pulled the ring from his finger and but by extending his hand towards the sky, he reached the limit of his life force and ring fell to the floor, shattering to smithereens the encased stone. The last thing Alexander saw was a ray of heavenly fire ascending to the sky where it once belonged. But Alexander didn't have any regrets leaving this earth so early, not being able to conquer the rest of the world – Hephaistion's face, smiling in invitation, beckoned to him from above.


End file.
